


Day Six: Knifeplay

by Badassium1970



Series: Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Blood, Canon Related, Character Study, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Consent, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Kinktober, Kinktober 2019, Knifeplay, Love, Natasha Is Bad With Feelings, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, PWP without Porn, Plot, Porn With Plot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Protective Clint Barton, Red Room, Sexual Content, and relationship, but she's getting better, past-abuse, pre-avengers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 00:04:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20939003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Badassium1970/pseuds/Badassium1970
Summary: Natasha wants to do something nice for Clint, to thank him for everything he's done for her. All the ways he's saved her and changed her life. A PTSD attack gets in the way and Clint ends up with a knife in his thigh.





	Day Six: Knifeplay

**Author's Note:**

> Fallen a day behind cus I was depressed as fuck yesterday and just couldn't make myself finish this. I'll try to make it up at some point... or I'll fall more behind. 
> 
> No one actually finishes kinktober in October... right?

Natasha owed her life to Clint in many ways.

He saved her from the Red Room, and not only that, he had gone against the orders he had been given to kill her and instead insisted that she become an agent, something, at the time, Natasha didn’t think would last. At some point, she was sure she would either be killed by S.H.I.E.L.D. or someone from the Red Room would find her and bring her back.

So she owned Clint for that, knowing that if anyone could have killed her, it would have been him. She’d told him that he should have many times, and still to this day had thoughts that he should have. He was always there to remind her that she isn’t the person the Red Room made her to be. They indoctrinated her and now she had the chance to be who she really was. Too bad she still wasn’t sure who that was.

It wasn’t just that. Clint had given her friendship, had taught her compassion, what it was like to really care about someone.

She hated it as much as she loved it.

Clint had taught her so much about the world. Corrected her mindset about certain things that the Red Room had tainted.

One of those things was sex.

Natasha had always used her body as a weapon. She had been told in the Red Room that her beautiful body was a blessing that she could use to entice her prey. Sex became a way to make her victims compliant. She was offered as an incentive for deals to be made. She stole from or even killed people she slept with. As soon as she was no longer able to get pregnant her body was shelled out. Sex was never for pleasure, only business.

So when Clint began to show interest in a way that was clearly more than friendly she figured that it was only a matter of time before she was ordered to sleep with him or else she would be killed or booted from S.H.I.E.L.D. and left for the enemies she had made to do as they pleased with her. She wasn’t sure which would be worse.

She made the first move so he didn’t have to. Clint was too kind for his own good and she had realised it wasn’t an act, but everyone had a dark side and he would crack eventually. She’d rather never see that side of him and so she decided to give him what he wanted before he had to ask, or give her orders for it.

Clint was surprised when Natasha pulled him into a broom closet after a meeting with Fury. He cared for Natasha a lot; was falling in love with her. He wanted this, but it didn’t feel right.

When he pushed her off Natasha failed to hide her confusion. She’d never had someone push her off of them. Never had someone not give in to her temptations.

“W-why?” Clint asks, hating the way Natasha was looking at him. He never wanted to hurt her but he knew she would be more hurt if he let this happen without questioning it.

“Because you want it,” Natasha tells him, voice completely monotone.

“What about you?”

“I want to stay.” There’s a frown threatening to form on her face.

“Stay where?” Clint asks, puzzled.

“In S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Clint is horrified that Natasha thought she would need to sleep with him to keep being an agent. At least it was him and not Fury or any agent who would actually take her up on that and make her believe it.

Natasha was informed that she didn’t have to sleep with him, or anyone, to keep her job. He made her understand that her body; that sex, wasn’t a weapon.

They didn’t have sex that day, but Natasha left the conversation with a warm feeling in her chest that she had never felt before.

She knew Clint had feelings for her, and over time she slowly began to realise that she may share those feelings, but she was terrified of a relationship.

When she told Clint, unable to hide anything from him because he’d learnt to read her too well, and she really shouldn’t have let that happen, he told her that it was okay.

“If you want to, I dunno, start something I guess, we’ll go at your pace,” Clint reassured her.

She wasn’t sure what to call them now. Partners made the most sense because they worked together so she’d heard the word so much it didn’t make her want to throw up. The idea of a serious relationship terrified her because she knew they both had a high chance of dying on a mission. Clint could die right in front of her, or vice versa.

This was why relationships were prohibited in the Red Room. They were too risky. She had constantly been told love is for children.

Clint was starting to tear down those ideas, and maybe one day she would be able to admit to herself, and to him, that she was in love.

For now though, whatever it was that they were, consisted of late-night hangouts, dinners in front of the TV and sex.

At first, Clint was apprehensive and made sure Natasha knew he wasn’t expecting sex just because they were in some kind of relationship.

“I know. I’m doing this because I want to.”

These were the things that made Clint’s heart melt. Seeing Natasha change from the woman indoctrinated by the Red Room, seeing her have wants. He almost cried the first time she ordered a pizza for herself instead of insisting that she needed to follow the harsh diet set for her by those monsters.

Sex with Clint was different. It was awkward. It was imperfect. It was fun. It was pleasurable.

Natasha had never had anything like that. She’d never had anyone care about whether or not she gets off just as much as they care about their own orgasm and she’d definitely never cared so much about the person on top of or underneath her.

She still had moments where she would revert back to her body just being another tool for her to use. The therapist S.H.I.E.L.D. had forced her to go to told her it was most likely PTSD but new, more positive experiences could help lessen the number of episodes she had, especially if she could find positive relationships with the things that reminded her of the Red Room. Creating new associations with her triggers could benefit her.

It was tough, but Clint was always by her side.

After a year of creating new memories and a dramatic decrease in episodes where she found herself back in her days before Clint saved her, she decided she wanted to surprise him as a thank you.

She remembered when they had been talking about kinks. They had been drinking though Natasha had yet to feel any effects. Clint wasn’t too bad; she’d expected him to be a lightweight so she was impressed.

Clint mentioned his days in the circus and how once, when the woman who normally did it was sick, he had offered to be the one strapped to the moving wheel and have knives thrown at him.

“Of course you did,” Natasha rolls her eyes but she’s smiling and there’s a warmness to her tone.

“It was kind of hot,” Clint says nonchalantly and Natasha almost chokes on her drink.

He then went on a ten-minute spiel about the fear of the knives coming towards him giving him a nervous boner and how one landed really close to his junk and he nearly came in his pants.

“Which would have been really embarrassing and I probably would have been fired,” Clint rambles, continuing to talk about his knife kink.

The idea had been in Natasha’s mind for a while.

She cleared it with Clint, knowing this wasn’t the kind of thing to just jump into. They needed to make sure everything would be as safe as possible, plus Clint took to reassuring Natasha, again, that she didn’t need to do anything to thank him.

They agreed to no restraints. Natasha liked them but Clint was iffy about them from some bad experiences. The blade of the knife could be pressed against the skin, small cuts could be created but nothing excessive, and not too many. Aftercare was set up beforehand, a bowl of water and a clean hand towel were on Clint’s bedside table, as well as some bandages in case they were needed. There were snakes waiting in case Clint felt faint, as well as a juice box.

Natasha raised her eyebrows at that.

“I like juice boxes,” Clint said with a straight face and Natasha couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Clint loved hearing her laugh.

“Take off your clothes and lay on your back,” Natasha orders him, letting Clint know that their scene has begun.

He followers her orders, stripping down to his boxers, as they had agreed to beforehand. While Clint trusts Natasha, and he is more than willing to have a knife near his cock, he also didn’t want to risk anything happening to it in the event that something goes wrong. Clint knows he’s a clutz whenever he’s outside of missions; can’t explain why. He just is.

Natasha strips down to her underwear as well, a red lacy set she had bought just for this night.

She sits at the end of the bed, fingers tracing a pattern on Clint’s thigh. Every so often her nails will scratch against him. He’s already hard, and his breath is left caught in his throat when Natasha first brings the knife to his leg, sideways just to tease him. The cold metal is a stark contrast to the warmth of Natasha’s fingers.

“Breath,” she reminds Clint and he follows her instructions.

“Try to keep your breath steady, this is going to hurt, but that’s the point,” Natasha warns him, and he gives a nod to show he understands.

“I trust you,” he smiles and Natasha can’t help but smile back, the feeling in her chest is constricting. It’s love but she still can’t make herself admit it.

The trace of the blade is featherlight, giving Clint goosebumps. It stings and he lets out a hiss but his cock is leaking, staining his lilac boxers.

“Breath,” Natasha reminds him. Clint hadn’t even realised he was holding his breath and he lets out a long shuddering exhale.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Clint’s voice is a little shaky. He hadn’t realised how good this would feel. There’s a wash of adrenaline that comes with the pain and he wants more.

“Okay,” Natasha says, and she drags the knife against Clint’s skin again. He lets out a moan this time.

Another few cuts and Clint feels like he’s floating. He can feel Natasha’s fingers on his again, rubbing over the cuts in what he thinks is meant to be soothing, but when he looks at her he sees that her face is in shock.

“Nat?” He speaks softly, trying to get her too stop looking at the blood and instead his face. When she’s like this it’s best to not make any sudden movements but she’s gripping on to the knife so hard he’s worried she might hurt herself, or do something she’ll regret.

He reaches out to touch her; to try and calm her down and maybe get her to either drop the knife or give it to him.

Big mistake.

The world whites out for a moment as pain washes over Clint. The knife is now in his leg.

It’s not too deep; hasn’t hit any major arteries, and Clint’s been through a lot worse. He probably should be a bit more concerned that there’s a knife sticking out of him but instead, he’s worried about Natasha. She’s begun to snap out of whatever memory she was trapped in and looks in horror at the knife.

“S-shit Clint I-I,” she’s shaking. Clint has never seen her like this, sure she’s opened up a lot, especially around him, but she’s never allowed herself to full-on panic around him. There are tears in her eyes, and Clint’s never seen her cry outside of undercover missions. He doesn’t want to see her cry.

“Hey Tasha, it’s okay. I’m fine,” he tries to calm her down, reaching under the bed and pulling out a box of medical supplies. He keeps them there because he hurts himself too much outside of the job and doesn’t want to constantly go to the medical ward. Sometimes he’ll skip out on going to the medical team after missions, knowing how to patch up his wounds by himself. He hates having people fuss over him like that anyway.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Clint says, pulling out a needle and thread, as well as some bandages to wrap everything up when he’s done.

“Do you think you can help?” Clint asks, thinking that it might help Natasha’s mental state if she’s involved in tending to his wound.

She looks down at her shaking hands, knowing they aren’t going to be much use.

“Hey, it’s fine. I’ve done this so many times I can do it on my own don’t worry,” he continues to reassure her as he removes the knife, trying not to let the pain he was feeling show on his face.

“It’s fine Tash. If I was going to be stabbed by anyone you’re number one on my list,” Clint jokes and feels a sense of pride when Natasha cracks a small smile.

“There’s my girl.”

Clint stitches up his wound while also talking to Natasha, calming her down. She doesn’t say anything back, but sometimes she makes a noise in acknowledgement, and she’s not shaking as badly.

“These things happen Tasha,” he tells her as he cleans the blood off of her first. He makes sure that her gaze is kept on his face and not her bloody hands, or the water that’s slowly turning red.

“We all have our demons,” he continues.

Natasha can’t keep it in anymore. Tears begin to roll down her face. She can’t remember the last time she cried and that thought makes her let out a sob because she knows that normal people cry. Clint cried at a dog adoption advert earlier that day. She wishes she could be like that sometimes.

Clint wipes his hands dry and holds Natasha close, legs turned away from her so she doesn’t get blood on her again.

“It’s fine, you’re not there anymore. You’re safe, I’m safe. It’s going to be okay.” Clint’s words have a soothing effect on her and while she’s still haunted by images of a man she had tortured and stabbed after sleeping with, she felt better just being held by Clint.

“I love you,” she whispers, still so afraid of her feelings but she needs to say it.

“I love you too,” Clint says back, playing with her hair, making little plates but it’s not working because he’s only parted the bits of hair in two instead of three.

They sit in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. Natasha is no longer shaking and she lets out a yawn.

“Tired?”

She nods. PTSD attacks like this always take a lot out of her.

“I’m gonna go finish cleaning up, you okay alone for a minute?”

Natasha nods and it’s only when Clint leaves she realises that the bed is covered in blood.

She takes a deep breath, Clint’s words playing on repeat in her head, ‘It’s okay. These things happen. It’s fine. I love you’.

She pulls the old sheets off, and busies herself, knowing Clint’s going to take a while with the bandages. He always ends up somehow tangling them.

“Tasha? Can you come help?” Right on cue. Natasha dropped the pillow she had just put a new case on and when to bandage up Clint. It was something she was so used to doing at this point she didn’t even think about the fact that she had caused the wound.

Clint helped Natasha finish changing the sheets and they cuddled up together.

“We’re not watching Dog Cops again Clint,” Natasha rolled her eyes. She didn’t understand why he liked it so much.

They watched Dog Cops 2 instead because Natasha can’t say no to her boyfriend.


End file.
